


No Longer Human

by BookLover86



Series: And I Quote... [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8724067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookLover86/pseuds/BookLover86
Summary: "I'm sick of making things worse.I'm sick of being hurt.I'm sick of crying myself to sleep.I'm sick of hating everything.I'm sick of faking a smile.I'm sick of feeling this way.I'm sick of letting people down.I'm sick of being me." - Unknown





	

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters or settings in this story.

***

**Chapter 1 - No Longer Human**   
  
_ "I'm sick of making things worse.  _ __  
_ I'm sick of being hurt.  _ __  
_ I'm sick of crying myself to sleep.  _ __  
_ I'm sick of hating everything.  _ __  
_ I'm sick of faking a smile.  _ __  
_ I'm sick of feeling this way.  _ __  
_ I'm sick of letting people down.  _ __  
__ I'm sick of being me." - Unknown   
  
     Stiles sighed and pushed his wet hair off of his clammy forehead. This freaking rain had been pouring from the heavens for three days straight. Well, not exactly twenty-four/seven, but that doesn't matter. Another point that doesn't matter, is how Stiles shouldn't be outside in the first place. So, maybe he should be in bed, resting after being sicker than a flu diseased elementary school for about a week, but no one cared enough to check on him. His dad was at the office, Scott was on another date with Kira, Isaac was who know's where, while Lydia was studying for next week's chemistry test. Not that she needed to. She was already the smartest person Stiles has ever known.

      Anyways, his fever broke just yesterday, and he was beginning to recover. Being the Nogitsune's rag doll puppet took its toll on Stiles' body. The day after they defeated the dark fox, Stiles began to throw up everything in his stomach. He was ninety-nine percent sure that the last time he threw up, it was just a mixture of stomach acid and blood. He hadn't had a real meal in that week he was sick, and when his fever slowly climbed down from the one-hundred and six point three degrees it had been to ninety-nine point seven, Stiles' dad made him sit down and eat a bowl of soup. Stiles swore he almost threw up again. 

     Not because of the soup, or that he was still deadly sick, but because now he had time to think. When he was sick, all of his focus was tunneled on throwing up and his skin being hotter than a volcano in the summer. After his temperature lowered, he was able to ignore the physical pain, and start thinking about what he had done. Now, everyone had told him adamantly that it wasn't his fault, but it was. 

     The entire reason the Nogitsune chose him, was because of how broken he was. Everyone always used to joke about how Stiles was the only one in the pack who was purely human. He would always respond with, "Well, what about Allison?" After he said that, they would drop it immediately, but Stiles clearly saw that they only heckled him about being a human among the supernatural, never Allison. Now why was that? Easy; Allison could take care of herself, while Stiles needed protection. He wasn't athletic, coordinated, nor was he even close to being able to fight. Add all that up, and you get a weak, pathetic human who can't even save his own skin. It's no wonder the Nogitsune chose him. No one would've suspected him of being the one that the Oni were after. After all, who would suspect skinny, defenseless Stiles of being a powerful dark spirit? Because of that, Stiles was the obvious choice of host. 

     And he had killed. 

     Maybe not by his hand personally, but he had given the order to kill. Scott would argue that he wasn't himself; that he was being possessed, but Stiles knew better. Sure, the Nogitsune had been possessing him, but he had let it all happen. He was the reason Scott's first love had died in his arms. He was the reason Chris Argent had to bury his daughter, after burying his sister and wife. He was the reason that Aiden had a sword run through him. 

     He was the reason all of this happened. 

     That's why he was currently outside in the pouring, freezing rain. Stiles had climbed onto his roof and sat there, letting the cold, hard water slam onto his head and skin. He had lost track of the time the minute he walked out into the rain, so he had no idea how long he'd been up there. However, his skin was starting to feel like ice, so Stiles suspected that it had been a while. 

     He was deaf to the world, not hearing a single thing until one persistent, annoying hum broke through his bubble of silence. Stiles scowled and clapped his hands over his ears, trying to drown it out. Funnily enough, the hum had about the same pitch as Scott's voice. And now, there were two, three, five hums all going at once. Each buzz had a different pitch and inflection, like different voices. 

     Stiles felt involuntary tears slide down his cheeks and he let loose a frustrated scream and stood up. This was beginning to hurt his head, so he was going to end it. He could barely see through the curtain of rain drops, but he was able to see enough to step onto the edge of the roof without slipping.  Then he looked down. 

     His house was only two stories tall, but the drop now seemed immeasurable looking from above. However scary the fall looked, it couldn't be worse than what he allowed to happen. With that thought in his mind, he took another step forward, landing onto air. Sharp, shrill sirens sounded as he fell, piercing his ears. He frowned, but listened to them. It was almost as if he could make out words amongst the white noise. 

     He didn’t have much time to listen, though.

     Two seconds later, and he was nothing more than a bruised heap on the packed dirt lightly covered in itchy grass. It hurt like hell, and it took all his power not to cry out to the pack right then and there. He knew they would come immediately, but he also knew that he deserved to lay there, suffering for the blood his hands were covered in.

      Not everyone shared the same views, although, because within moments of Stiles’ “landing”, he was swarmed by people. Blurry faces and worried voices crowded him, the annoying hum still very much present in the autumn rain. Stiles scowled and turned away from the noise, but he was forced back around. He could make out a group tall shadowy figures, some thin and curvy, while others were broader in the shoulders. He couldn’t tell how many there were, or who the figures actually were, but they were there.  Helping him, when he didn’t deserve it.  Without realizing it, his lips moved, forming words and phrases, repeated. 

     “I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this,” he whispered over and over, blood trickling through his lips. The wind rushed in his ears, and he felt light-headed. Darkness edged into his vision, swirling with the dull colors. He felt himself be lifted up, strong arms supporting him. 

     “You’re going to be okay, Stiles,” a soft voice murmured in his ear. Male, too young to be his father. Could’ve been either Scott or Derek. Whoever it was, they obviously cared. 

     Stiles hated that they cared. If they cared for him, then that just means they’ll get hurt when he pushes them away. Or they’ll become disgusted with him once they find out what he’s done. Either way, it’ll end awfully. 

     “I don’t deserve this,” Stiles muttered, eyes dancing back and forth, back and forth. 

     “Of course you don’t, Stiles,” the voice responded. 

     “I deserve death,” Stiles finished, clenching his fingers into fists, curled against his stomach. The voice inhaled sharply, but didn’t respond. At least, if they did, Stiles didn’t hear it. 

     All he could hear was a loud buzz. 

\---

     The light was harsh, and hurt to look at. Stiles didn’t want to open his eyes. He scowled and began to toss, muscles tightening as he tried to find a comfortable spot in his bed. Since when was his bed hard, or his sheets scratchy? Never. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Stiles forced his eyelids open, allowing him to see exactly where he was. The walls were plain, the light burned his eyes, and everything surrounding him was purely _white_. 

     There were two people in his room, one short and wide while the other was tall and made of straight lines. Two distinct hums could be heard, one squeaky and one booming. Stiles squinted his eyes and tried to turn onto his side, but was restricted by rough hands. 

     “Stay still, Stiles,” a voice whispered in his ear, the same one that had told him that he was going to be okay. When he turned his head to the side, he saw a blurry face attached to a body dressed in dark clothes. He couldn’t tell who it was, but he wanted to know. 

     “Who are…” Stiles trailed off when he felt the tell-tale sting in the inner part of his arm, telling him that someone had stuck a needle there. He began to feel sleepy again, his head feeling fuzzy and his body swaying back and forth dizzily. 

     He was asleep within seconds. 

\---

     Scott had carried him to the hospital after he “fell”. That’s what Stiles learned after waking up for the second time.  This time, he stayed awake. He still had no idea who that person next to his bed the first time he woke up was, but he didn’t say anything to his dad. His dad was already so happy that Stiles had woken up at all, he didn’t want to ruin his father’s euphoria with a stupid question. 

     So, he kept quiet. Listened to his dad explain what happened that night. Stiles hadn’t been answering his phone when his dad called to check up on him, so he naturally called Scott, thinking Stiles had been with him. When he wasn’t, his dad started to worry. Stiles usually was a freak about answering his phone, calling back as soon as he possibly could if he’d missed a single call. Scott made the rounds, calling Lydia, Ethan, Isaac, Argent, and even Derek, seeing if anyone knew where Stiles was, but no one had a clue. 

     They began searching, and eventually found Stiles on the roof of his own house. They thought he was still delirious from the sickness and medicine, but Stiles knew that he had been thinking up there clear as day. The group that found him was made up of his dad, Scott, Kira, Lydia, and, surprisingly, Isaac. They had called at him, telling him to come down or wait until they could help him down. They saw Stiles stand and walk to the edge of the roof, seeming to try and come down from the roof. 

     But before any of them could help, Stiles slipped on the rain-covered shingles and fell, hitting his head on the side of the house. He was unconscious when he hit the ground, according to them, and Stiles kept to himself that he had actually barely been awake when he had landed. Scott was smiling the entire time while telling this story, so happy that Stiles was awake now. 

     “You gotta stay off roofs man,” he chirped. “Don’t want another thing like this to happen.” Stiles didn’t return his eccentric grin. Instead, he looked into the eyes of his best friend, a heavy frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Scott seemed to sense that something was wrong, and the smile was wiped off his face. He tilted his head in confusion. "Right, Stiles?” 

     Stiles opened his mouth and gave a small humorless chuckle. “Not exactly.” 

     Scott leaned forward, worry lines creasing his forehead. “What do you mean?” 

     “I didn’t fall, Scott,” Stiles whispered in a voice softer than cotton. “I _jumped_. I _wanted_ to land on the ground. I _wanted_ to crack my skull open. I _wanted_ to _die_ that night, but you guys ‘saved’ me. How ironic is that? To save the soul who deserves to die.” 

     With that, he turned away, not able to look at Scott’s grief-stricken face. He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come quickly. No dreams visited him that night. 

     No, they were nightmares. 

     Nightmares of his friends and family dying by his own hands. Scott’s head cut open and bleeding profusely, his father’s eyes glazed over in death, Lydia’s neck bent at an unnatural angle, Kira impaled by her own sword, Melissa with hand prints circling her esophagus, Derek with his chest slashed open. 

     The worst part was that these nightmares, these could become reality, and Stiles feared that day. H e feared himself, as he was no longer human.

***

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first installment in my new series called "And I Quote..." which is basically going to be a bunch of multi-fandom one-shots based off various quotes. The next one will be an Arrow/Flash one-shot called Broken Hero. I suggest you stay tuned for that one if you liked this one, because that one is going to be good! :) 
> 
> If you like Danny Phantom and angst, I have a one-shot up on my account called "Just a Child". If you like Miraculous Ladybug fics with a lot of fluff, then maybe check out my ongoing story called "Treble Makers". The next chapter should be posted sometime next week, so that's exciting. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading this. Please leave comments if you loved it or hated it. I love reading all types of comments. They either make my day or show me ways to improve. 
> 
> BookLover86, Out! ;)


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